


The Romance

by soriso



Series: The Princess and the Dragon [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:19:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4486416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soriso/pseuds/soriso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The impression most people had of Cassandra Pentaghast was truly inadequate. However, her notions about romance proved inadequate as well, as Trevelyan was something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Romans](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4325223) by [le_mru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_mru/pseuds/le_mru). 



> I strongly recommend reading the first part before you read this one, otherwise it won't make much sense.
> 
> ETA: as of November 2016 this part was edited for mistakes. That said, I am sure plenty of them are still in the text. Maybe in a 1000 years or so I'll finally manage to correct them all.

As a teenager, Cassandra used to read a lot of romance novels. When she grew up she didn't stop, only learnt to hide it, at first ashamed and then weirdly excited when she thought of what a contrast it must have been to the everyday image she projected. What a stick in the mud, said one of Anthony's friends about her, and she might have even taken offence if not for the fact that she was too busy reading the new part of The Legend of the Desert People, one of her favourite series. Cold as an iceberg, said one of the rejected suitors, clearly unaware of how much, just the other night, Cassandra was affected by Rudyard and Clementine's fierce coupling.

She loved walking around her quarters with nothing but a shirt on, or even completely naked, posing voluptuously in front of the mirror as if she was preparing for something. She even tried dressing like the heroines of the novels she read, but their outfits had quickly proven to be highly impractical, not to mention that they made her feel as if she was wearing some sort of a weird disguise, all foreign spy like. She had, however, some – more or less tasteful – ideas of how the first night with that one special person would go down. First they would kiss, yellow cornfields stretching far behind them, but then the scenery would change – so, a marble fireplace, clothes quickly falling to the floor, rose petals all around them and so on. It would be passionate but tender at the same time. They would go on all night, even though a night seemed a long time, but Cassandra was in excellent shape and it didn't worry her in the slightest. Alabaster arms, hair spread out on the pillow, all these things.

What she had never imagined was that they would be lying on hay, surrounded by snoring knights and winking at each other conspicuously. That is, Cassandra thought it was conspicuous, but Trevelyan could've as well had something in her eye.

They wouldn't be in that situation if it weren't for her father, who deemed the guest rooms in the tavern unfit for their stay. A compromise was eventually reached, but the damage had already been done – her father was deeply hurt and quite offended, and because it was already too late to set up camp, ultimately they decided on spending the night in a little barn located not far from the tavern.

Cassandra laid her bedroll down on the hay, draping the cloak over herself. Next to her in the dark, Trevelyan was squirming on her blanket, a gently curved shape smelling of herbal oils. In theory it could be someone else lying there, and yet that wouldn't be the same – even the air around them was somehow different.

"I can't imagine mother staying in this place," said Cassandra suddenly.

"Neither can I," admitted Trevelyan.

"Have you ever slept in a barn?"

"It happened once or twice. Our wild Ostwick ways."

Cassandra smiled in spite of herself. There was something endearing about that girl. She stretched out her arm blindly and found Trevelyan's hand, soft and delicate as if she was a scribe. Around them the guardsmen snored, undisturbed.

It was clear that the Duke took the tavern's poor standards as a personal offence, because the next day he set a merciless pace. Cassandra was used to it, but Trevelyan, chatty and beaming in the morning, was becoming less and less talkative with each passing moment. When they finally stopped, she slid down her saddle and walked away in the direction of a stream, dragging her feet. Cassandra helped set up camp, groomed the horses and assigned watches, and after supper she peeked into the tent they shared. Trevelyan was lying there with her cloak folded under her belly, her expression longsuffering.

"Is everything alright? I’ve put aside some potatoes for you."

"Thanks. My unspeakable parts hurt," said Trevelyan. "From the saddle."

Cassandra slipped inside the tent and sat down next to Trevelyan, crossing her legs.

"Couldn't you... you know?" She rubbed her hands together suggestively.

Trevelyan gave her a surprised look, but after a moment something clicked. She warmed her hands up, as if she was preparing to chop wood, and put them to the hurting spot, exhaling a sigh that was downright comical. Cassandra braced herself on her elbows and tilted her head to the side. They didn't have many occasions to spend time alone – it's not like she counted all these hours spent in saddle, accompanied by bored knights, her father and her brother. Not to mention that, when she was in company, Trevelyan put on a civil, pleasant mask, which incidentally also made it boring. Cassandra definitely preferred the uncurbed, private version of her. Had her father known that side of Trevelyan, he would have never insisted that Cassandra watched her that closely.

Trevelyan, unaware of Cassandra's musings, rolled onto her back and wiggled her fingers. "Healing hands," she joked. Cassandra had noticed by now that she had a tendency to use humour as a way to ease the tension or diminish her own accomplishments. As much as that first use sometimes worked, the second one was completely unnecessary.

"If I were to be honest, I remain highly impressed with your skills," she said, choosing the right words carefully. "Almost everyone could learn how to pummel people with a sword, but this... this is unique."

"You're flattering me, aren't you?" asked Trevelyan.

Cassandra shook her head. "No! It's not flattery, I really think so. It's just that I never know how to say it right..."

Trevelyan looked embarrassed and Cassandra scolded herself internally. One could think that with such extensive knowledge of romantic tropes she would be better at this, but coming up with appropriate words was always difficult for her. She was much better at other things.

She closed the distance between them and covered Trevelyan with her body. Her mouth was soft, her neck velvety and her leg supple when it came around Cassandra's waist eagerly. She also had a tendency to make encouraging sounds; perhaps a little too loud, because suddenly someone outside coughed and spat. It probably wasn't even about them, but it brought them down to earth all the same.

Trevelyan froze with both hands on Cassandra's shoulders, her expression slightly panicked.

"That saddle still bothering you?" asked Cassandra, sliding out of her embrace, her voice heavy with care.

"Looks like it," said Trevelyan, fiddling nervously with the hem of her shirt. "I think it's because of my posture. Maybe you could help me find the mistakes and correct them?"

"It would be my pleasure. As soon as we get home."

When the night finally came, she couldn't stop herself. After some fifteen minutes spent on anxious staring at Trevelyan's back, she scooted closer and threw one arm over her waist. When Trevelyan shifted, still asleep, Cassandra slipped one careful hand underneath her nightshirt and touched that place between her side and her hip.

She was finally starting to understand why some people called sleeping with someone carnal knowledge. Her own desire could also be characterised as curiosity – she wanted to know what the curvy, feminine Trevelyan looked like naked, how she behaved when someone pleasured her, how she arched her spine, what shape her mouth was, how would it feel to touch her thighs, her buttocks. She would catch herself thinking about that when she watched Trevelyan doing everyday things, like putting on shoes or getting off the horse. Her mother often said that mystery was the key to desire – and she herself put a lot of effort into keeping her father from solving that mystery. They slept in separate quarters and she never let anyone beside her handmaid see her without make up on. Even Cassandra saw her without it, and in nothing but underwear, only once, when there was a big storm at night and everyone had to take cover in the wine cellar. Still, being near Trevelyan, if anything, only boosted her desire to a level she could barely control.

Cassandra didn't care for the appeal of mystery. She had caused a scandal back when she first started going for her early morning swim in the lake, but soon everyone got so used to it she didn't even have to flush anyone out from the bushes anymore, which happened at the beginning once or twice. She was nothing if not utilitarian about her body and didn't even realise how used it was until Trevelyan put it back to its original state. She was beginning to think that the origins of her fascination with Trevelyan had its roots in that first, primal connection they shared, physical from the very beginning.

Coming back home meant separation and she realised that for the first time in many years she wasn't in a hurry to go back. Her father, however, was – they entered the courtyard by the end of the day, bringing the almost dormant manor back to life.

She was putting her dragon armour back on the rack in their private armoury when she noticed that Anthony was giving her weird looks secretively.

"Have you caught an exotic disease of some sort or is there something you want to tell me?"

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, leaning against the cabinet with gala gambesons.

"That Mistress of the arcane of ours really is something, isn't she?"

"She really is," admitted Cassandra, knowing exactly what he was getting at and trying to steer the conversation away from that particular topic. "She is incredibly talented for her age. It is an excellent addition to our team."

"It is an excellent addition, indeed. It's a shame it's a bit biased though, as it evidently prefers some of us to others."

"It looks like the move you tried to put on her was the same one you try with every poor girl that happens to be within fifty feet from you and, as always, you failed."

"Good thinking with that book." Anthony wouldn't be put off his stroke. "I wouldn't have thought of that, but it looks like it worked."

"Don't beat around the bush." Cassandra turned on her heel, unable to keep her cool any longer. "And save these stupid remarks for your friends."

"I'm just messing with you, Cass. I'm also worried about you."

"About me?" she snorted and sat down to take her boots off. "That is really unnecessary. I'm an adult and I know how to think for myself."

"That I don't doubt. Do you remember though, how it ended the last time when a mage was involved?"

She lifted her head to glare at him. Anthony was giving her a concerned look.

"That is not the same case. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place, remember?"

"I do remember, it's just I'm not sure if you do."

"There is nothing to talk about."

"Just promise me you'll back down before you get yourself into something again."

"Out of the two of us I am the good one, Tony."

Anthony just smiled at her knowingly.

She didn't see Trevelyan until the next day, and when she finally did stumble upon her, she pressed her briefly into the draperies in the antechamber.

"If you want to meet me this evening," she said, holding the stupefied Trevelyan by the chin, "leave your window open."

The impression most people had of Cassandra Pentaghast was truly inadequate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up, rating has changed!

Cassandra was never one of those highborn children whose sole responsibility was nothing more but attending feasts and tournaments – she had her duties in the dukedom. During dinner she had to take care of some business with the court scribe, even though she would definitely rather watch Trevelyan who was sitting at the other end of the table, her cheeks pleasantly pink. After the meal she went through the piled up correspondence and prepared reply letters for the messenger to take in the morning. After sunset she planned to go for a run with Sigismund, but couldn't find him anywhere, so she grabbed her towel and went for a swim.

Trevelyan's windows were facing that side of the garden and the lights were on inside her room. Cassandra was far from acting with premeditation, but she knew how to take advantage of the opportunity once it presented itself. She undressed slowly and, nothing if not meticulous, took her position on the jetty and dived into the lake. During that brief moment in the air she had the prickling feeling of being watched.

After the swim she carefully dried herself off, stopped by the night guards' post to talk to them briefly and visited her father. He was sitting in his armchair by a weak candle, squinting at some old documents.

"Go to sleep, Dad," she said even as she lit the candelabra standing next to his desk. "We will take care of that tomorrow."

He rubbed his eyes and smiled at her. There seemed to be more gray strands in his hair than usual.  
"If people only knew that my daughter orders me around."

He always said that. "I do, don't I? Good night."

"Wait a moment, Cassandra. I'm glad you found a female company in the Mistress from Ostwick, but you should remember―"

Cassandra froze mid-step, struggling to nip her anger in the bud. "―to never trust a mage. I remember, Dad. Good night!"

She walked out of the study, legs stiff, and when she was in her quarters she angrily threw the towel to the floor. If it weren't for the fact that everything was set in stone now, ever since the moment when she had asked Andraste for guidance and saw Trevelyan, maybe she would start questioning herself, maybe she would start doubting her own judgement. But there was no going back now.

She changed into something lighter and more comfortable, an outfit that best suited her intentions, and combed her hair, looking at her reflection in the mirror. That Cassandra looked at her with calm confidence, while the real one was feeling a light pressure somewhere where her breastbone was located and had to stop and massage it briefly.

Once that was taken care of, she put out all the candles in her room, opened the window and stepped out onto the window sill. There was a small ledge along the facade of the manor, something she and Anthony discovered when they were children. Now, however, with feet twice as big as they used to be, it was much harder to get across the ledge to the other side of the building. Cassandra pressed her back to the wall and moved her feet slowly sideways, step by step, keeping her eyes fixed on the stables, the courtyard and farther buildings, almost completely obscured by the dark now. When she reached the corner, she felt around for a drainpipe – once she found it, she turned on one foot and grabbed it. After that, it was a piece of cake – all she had to do was go up the drainpipe, climb up the roof to the ridge and lower herself down on the other side, holding on to the bay window for safety.

She kneeled down at the edge, looking down at the row of windows. The first one was wide open, so she lowered herself down onto the window sill, grabbed the frame and jumped inside, almost giving Trevelyan a heart attack in the process.

"It's you! Sweet Andraste!"

Cassandra brushed off her tunic in a nonchalant gesture. "It is me. I told you to leave the window open, didn't I?"

"You did, but I thought it was figurative..." Trevelyan was wearing a short, embroidered dressing gown, the tails of which she still held together cautiously. "You surprised me, that's all. Would you like something to drink?"

"A drink? Yes, please. Thank you. Can I have a quick look around? I haven't been here ever since you moved in."

"Be my guest." Trevelyan procured a bottle of wine from somewhere, moving on to open it skilfully. "I'm afraid it's somewhat of a mess here."

"It is not," said Cassandra. She couldn't help but notice all the candles, arranged tactically around the bed. The annoying pressure on her breastbone was back just like that. "It smells very nice in here."

Trevelyan came up to her with a wine glass. The front of her dressing gown parted slightly, giving Cassandra a perfect view of the necklace she once gave her resting comfortably between Trevelyan's round breasts.

"Thank you. It's from our vineyard, isn’t it?" Cassandra asked, trying her best to focus on the wine. "How did you get it?"

Trevelyan smiled slyly. "I have my ways," she said. "I also have something for you."

"There's no need, really―"

"Just give me a second."

Below the farthest window, next to a desk, there were piles of books and a makeshift workshop full of flasks, bowls and dried plants. Trevelyan took a small, dark jar from it. "Here. I made it for you."

"What's that?"

"It's an ointment for aching joints and bruises. I know you exercise a lot and I figured you could use one..."

Cassandra opened the jar and smelled its contents. It reminded her a little of the creams her mother used, only it was slightly more spicy. "Thank you. It's the most thoughtful gift I have ever received."

Trevelyan curtsied and looked at her, lowering her eyelashes slightly. Then she turned back to her dressing table. "You are a very practical person, it is hard to find something you could want," she said, pouring wine into the second glass.

Cassandra took one step towards her. "You have a point," she said. "I usually get daggers or belts. I have a whole closet full of belts with daggers strapped to them."

Trevelyan giggled and Cassandra put down her glass and grabbed her by the hips. She could see their reflection in the mirror of the dressing table, which allowed her to track the journey of her hands on Trevelyan's body – one slid down her thigh, while the second went up her chest, reaching the spot where the front of the dressing gown parted. Trevelyan's skin was golden in places where the sun could touch it and milky white in those it usually didn't. Cassandra's hand stood out against her breast. Trevelyan exhaled and caught Cassandra's wrist; her other hand, however, remained free, and so it slipped under Trevelyan's dressing gown.

"I see you've put on the jewellery I gave you," whispered Cassandra into Trevelyan's ear.

"I did," gasped Trevelyan, grinding against Cassandra with her whole body. "E-even though I didn't know if it suited me."

It was the most erotic sight she had ever experienced in all her life, but at the same time it made her anxious, as if everything was too real, unlike all that had happened in a dark courtyard or in a shadowy park. It was happening here, now, inside the manor where the life she had led up to this point had never known such passions.

Trevelyan turned around suddenly, throwing her arms around Cassandra's neck and kissing her with hot lips. Cassandra lost her balance, just like the first time, but then bent her legs slightly, grabbed Trevelyan by the thighs and lifted her up. Trevelyan squealed charmingly and her mouth missed the intended spot – she kissed Cassandra's eye and then nose instead of her lips. Cassandra carried her to the bed and dropped her there; then she took off her tunic and threw it behind her back.

Trevelyan braced herself on her elbows, her chest rising and falling, the dressing gown completely parted now. "Come here," she said.

Cassandra didn't make her wait long. She took off her boots, moved her fingers up Trevelyan's soft legs and parted them with her knee. She kissed her collarbone and bit her shoulder; Trevelyan clenched her fists in Cassandra's hair which sent an almost electric shiver down her spine. Trevelyan's breasts were different than her own, softer and heavier, perhaps also more sensitive, judging by how they reacted to touch. Cassandra was doing fine as long as she thought about it as some sort of challenge she had to face, but when she lifted her eyes and met Trevelyan's gaze, she had to brace her forehead on Trevelyan's breastbone to catch a breath.

"Is everything alright?" asked Trevelyan, touching Cassandra's trembling arm carefully.

"It is, it's just... I don't know."

Trevelyan, Andraste bless her, didn't laugh. Her face completely serious, she pushed Cassandra away a little and grabbed her hand. She placed it on her own breast and then slowly began to move it down her ribs, her hip and her mound, covered with soft, fair hair. Cassandra sighed when she finally touched her lips. That moment seemed somehow ceremonious.

The polite, well-behaved baroness Trevelyan kicked Cassandra's back with her heels and dug her nails into Cassandra's shoulders; she squirmed and wriggled and finally let out a moan that was about to become a scream if Cassandra hadn't managed to cover it up with her hand, mindful of the late hour and the open windows.

Trevelyan collapsed on the bed with a deep sigh. Cassandra lay down next to her, sweating as if she had just finished running laps around the lake. Outside crickets chirped merrily and someone was taking a stroll around the courtyard.

"Your hair is so long," said Trevelyan. "I didn't know."

Cassandra touched her hair. Her braid was completely ruined now.

"Too long. I need to braid it because it gets in my eyes."

She didn't think they would still be able to talk as they did before. It didn't seem proper – even though it was – so she grabbed Trevelyan's hand and kissed it. Trevelyan smiled, pink and relaxed.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked softly.

"Go ahead." Cassandra rolled onto her back. Trevelyan not only had a better bed, she also had a beautiful, antique canopy. "I think we're past the point of keeping up appearances."

"Was it you who broke Chevalier de Farfois' arm?"

"Excuse me?"

"I've been thinking about that lately." Trevelyan turned onto her side, one hand below her cheek. "What happened back then?"

"It's not something I'm proud of," said Cassandra, staring into the offensive canopy. "He got on my nerves. How was I to know he wouldn't even know how to fall off a horse properly?"

Trevelyan snorted.

"I have to admit I've been wanting to put him in his place for some time now," confessed Cassandra. "Maybe if he didn't say that thing about you..."

"He said something about me?" prodded Trevelyan.

"He did and it was truly unbecoming."

"What was it?"

"I won't tell you. It's not worth repeating anyway."

"But it upset you?" Trevelyan made sure, moving closer.

"Very much so," admitted Cassandra. "Why do you keep asking about this?"

Trevelyan lifted herself on her knees and threw one leg over Cassandra's hips. "You defended my honour," she said, brushing a stray hair away from her face. "It's the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me."


	3. Chapter 3

Originally she intended to wait for the moon to hide behind the clouds, and then get across the roof back to the wing where her quarters were, sleep through the rest of the night and get up in the morning as if nothing at all had changed. That plan went haywire, because when she woke up, there were sunrays coming into the room and she could hear the morning messenger saying goodbye on the courtyard, both loudly and vulgarly. She tried to get up in one, swift movement like she always did, but something was pressing her into the mattress – it was Trevelyan's arm and thigh, and also the whole left part of her body. Her messy head, buried in Cassandra's armpit, was steadily blowing hot air into it.

Cassandra managed to get out of Trevelyan's embrace and sat on the edge of the bed, almost knocking down the wine bottle and two glasses that happened to be within her arm's reach. The last time she missed her morning swimming or the messenger was when a high dragon broke her leg, making her bed-bound for almost an entire month. Neither Cassandra nor the whole manor remembered that time fondly.

She put on her tunic and boots, patted down her hair in front of the mirror and walked around Trevelyan's room for a moment, anxious for reasons unknown. Then she made up her mind. She positioned herself at the door and, straining her ears, slipped out of the room when she was sure that no one was nearby. After a couple steps she turned and headed for the library, where she grabbed two random books. The room was filled with decorative incunabula, as well as the portraits and statues of her long dead ancestors, on the display as always, but this time there was something different about them, something that Cassandra, rather insensitive to beauty, couldn't exactly name, so she just put the books under her arm and headed for the stairs. As she suspected, she bumped into the governess there.

Governess Sabra threw up her hands in despair. "Lady Cassandra!" she exclaimed. "Katrin is waiting with breakfast, we were worried you drowned in that damn lake!"

"I spent the night reading," lied Cassandra, aware that she herself must believe the lie for it to sound true. "Sometimes it needs to be done."

"You're putting too much weight on your young shoulders, lady Cassandra, it's unnecessary."

"It is the way it is, Sabra," said Cassandra feeling guilty already, and quickly added, "I do feel better knowing that I will always have you to help me."

"Thank you, my lady." Sabra, clearly satisfied, put her hands on her hips. "Which reminds me that His Grace would like to see you after breakfast."

"I will keep that in mind. Goodbye!"

In the second wing everyone was up and about already – the servants were running with buckets of hot water, Anthony was looking for a missing pair of some unique breeches and several court officials stood waiting in front of her father's study. Cassandra, however, wasn't really presentable yet, so she made a turn for her quarters. Her maid wasn't there, but she left a tray with beautifully served breakfast, as well as a couple of outfits hanging on the screen. Cassandra was fairly self-reliant and didn't require the same services most of the noblewomen did, so Katrin often tried to make herself useful in other ways – Cassandra's quarters were always incredibly clean and often there were fresh flowers in the vase. This time it was late, purple lilac. Cassandra took a second to bury her nose in it.

As she ate breakfast, she went through the newest correspondence. Afterwards she chose a light hunting outfit with their family crest embroidered at the front and put it on. She braided her hair on the way to the study. Her father asked everyone to leave when she entered.

"Leave us, please. Cassandra, sit." He pointed at the chair that had just been vacated by a magistrate. "You may begin with telling me where you were this morning."

"I overslept. I apologise."

"Are you feeling well? It's unlike you."

"I've been reading about defence against magic and I lost track of time. I promise it won't happen again."

Her father nodded his head in approval. "It is always useful, but I would like to remind you it was you who yesterday reminded me not to stay up too late."

Cassandra smiled meekly and dropped her gaze, because in her mind's eye she saw Trevelyan, naked with her back arched, Cassandra's hand between her legs.

"To the point," said her father, putting aside account books. "What you're seeing here is not accidental. I am concerned with news about the Blight and decided to prepare us, were it to reach us."

"The Blight?" Cassandra shifted forward. "Is this really the Blight?"

"It is not confirmed yet, but there is such a possibility. The dog lords are gathering their armies in the south, near Ostagar, and first darkspawn was just seen in the Korcari Wilds."

"If it does reach us, no plan will help us."

"It's not entirely true." With his leg, he moved some heavy tomes from behind the desk. "Yesterday I've been reading about the previous Blights and their consequences. It's possible to minimise the losses and save some people..."

"Is Ferdinand aware of this?"

"Of course he is. The day after tomorrow we are to attend an official meeting concerning this issue. It was Ferdinand who sent us some pieces of information about this. It is to be expected though that he will focus on defending Cumberland and that is what that meeting will be mostly about, as well as the possible siege of Cumberland or its fall. That's why we should take care of our dukedom ourselves. But let us not get ahead of ourselves for now."

Cassandra sat in silence for a while, staring at the Orlesian carpet on the floor. "What do you want me to do?" she asked.

Her father leant against the desk and put his hands together. "My biggest problem right now is that I do not have any confirmed, sure information with regard to the situation in Ferelden. Few people have it and if they do, they aren't willing to share it. I do, however, remember, that we have a potential liaison there, or, to be more precise, you do."

Cassandra was so outraged she stood up. "You cannot possibly mean it!"

"Unfortunately. It is also my last resort."

"But it is I who has to contact Regalyan, is that not right? Even though he's there because of me?"

"Because of you?!" The Duke also stood up. "Regalyan is in Kinloch Hold because he's a mage and mages belong in the Circle!"

"They do, but he was sent to Ferelden because of me! He should be here, in the College, but instead they sent him to this... middle of nowhere! And now I am supposed to ask him for a favour? Excuse me, Dad, but did someone hit your head with a shield one time too many?"

"Aren't you forgetting yourself, Cassandra?"

"No, I'm not," she said through clenched teeth. "Why won't you write to him yourself? You knew him, you knew his parents too."

"I would, if they were alive. As for Regalyan, he still should be thanking the Maker he got off that easy. If anyone has the right to bear a grudge against someone here, it's us. I came this close to being hanged as—"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Cassandra. "They wouldn't have executed you because Ferdinand knew you had his back. And Galyan... We were fifteen, Dad. Do you honestly want to convince me you never said anything stupid when you were fifteen?"

"We both know it was something more..."

"You always say that, but somehow when you have to give specific arguments, you keep avoiding the topic!"

"Cassandra..." the Duke said, his voice placatory. "I know it stands against your values; I even know it was me who taught you to hold on to them, but sometimes you have to do things you do not agree with, for the greater good. Once your rule starts―"

"I don't want it to start if that's the way it is," she snapped. "But fine, I will contact him. It is a serious matter, more serious than us, Van Markhams or Ferdinand even."

"Thank you." Her father took his seat again, his eyes never leaving hers. Cassandra sighed and sat down as well. "Unfortunately we still have some matters to discuss, but I can promise you they won't be as unpleasant as this one."

"That won't be difficult," muttered Cassandra.

They didn't leave the study until the evening – even their dinner was served there – and when they finally did, they couldn’t even muster the strength to talk to one another, even though Cassandra was still angry about that letter. Taking advantage of the warm weather, she went for a swim, but after a couple of minutes she turned onto her back and just floated on the surface of the lake, staring at the many colours of the evening blooming above the roof of their completely unfortified manor. Somewhere in the park the guardsmen played a game of running and passing something back and forth, their voices carrying over the lake, suddenly more boyish than manly.

When it was more chilly than warm she rolled over like a lazy seal and slowly started swimming back in the direction of the jetty. There was a person on its farthest brink, their legs lowered down into the water, disturbing its surface. The closer Cassandra was getting, the more the person was starting to look like Trevelyan. She swam up closer and pushed herself up just enough to brace her arms on the edge of the jetty. She had a feeling that Trevelyan was expecting something, apparently not conversant with the etiquette of such beautiful evenings, but she bravely sat through it in silence. Trevelyan turned her head and looked at the lake, which gave Cassandra an opportunity to watch her.

She pushed herself up all the way and sat on the jetty. Once she was dry and dressed again, she took a seat next to Trevelyan.

"Have you swum in that lake yet?" she asked, bracing her forearm on her bent knee.

"Not yet. But I can swim, I'll surely try."

"Just be careful on the opposite bank." She pointed to the distant spot, already obscured by the darkness. "It's deep and there are icy whirlpools there."

Trevelyan nodded. "I'll remember," she said, and then immediately continued, "I thought you were avoiding me, Cassandra."

"I wasn't. I overslept and then had to spend the day with my father... We've received bad news."  
Trevelyan nodded again. Cassandra gave her an astonished look. She didn't expect Trevelyan to be so quick in recognising that she didn't want to dwell on such unpleasant matters.

"There were people gathered outside of your father's study and I heard them talking," confessed Trevelyan, covering Cassandra's hand with her own. "Is there anything I could do?"

"It's not your home, is it?"

"But you treat me as if it was. A little."

Cassandra raised her head in surprise. Trevelyan held her gaze and squeezed her fingers, her own hand suddenly exuding warmth.

"Will you come to me tonight?" she asked.

"I will. I have a letter to write first, but I will come for sure."

Cassandra got up, but not before giving Trevelyan a fleeting kiss on the shoulder. Her steps rumbled on the planks of the jetty as she walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

_Esteemed Master D'Marcall..._

No, too official. Cassandra rubbed her forehead, the quill tickling her cheek.

 _Master..._ Also wrong. They were fifteen when they last saw each other, after all. Back then Cassandra towered over him and her forearms were thicker than his arms. Everyone pretended they knew nothing about his magic skills and his parents were always letting him read steamy books as if they were trying to make his fate up to him.

 _Dear Galyan..._ That opening seemed too personal considering they hadn't seen each other for ten years now. They had exchanged a few passionate letters once he was taken to the White Spire in Val Royeaux, but the passion dwindled with time, when finally Cassandra wrote to Regalyan only out of sense of duty and habit. At one point her letters began coming back, having not made its way to the recipient, and after a while she discovered he had been relocated to Kinloch Hold by Lake Calenhad. By then she couldn't really recall what his face looked like.

She crossed out the headline and looked through the window, hoping for some kind of inspiration to strike her. The courtyard and the park were completely dark already and she hadn't even begun.

 _Dear friend_ – she started finally, deciding on something polite and neutral, yet not without a certain degree of fondness. _I hope my letter finds you in good health. I am writing out of consideration for our old friendship..._

She heaved a sigh and put down the quill. She definitely preferred fighting dragons to writing, especially when the circumstances were so awkward.

Something hit her window with a plunk.

"Who’s there?" she asked, leaning out cautiously. Someone waved at her from the ground level. She could make out the white of a blouse. "Trevelyan?"

"I'm going to the garden to pick nocturnal herbs," said Trevelyan. "Care to accompany me?"

Cassandra didn't make her wait long. "I'll be right there, wait for me."

She was so relieved she could put off writing that letter that she put on her official outfit without thinking, only realising it when she had already begun strapping her sword belt on. She decided on wearing it anyway, to make it look as if she was keeping Trevelyan company to keep her safe.

She run downstairs and walked out onto the porch, already encompassed in darkness. A clearly bored guardsman standing watch nodded at her as she stepped down onto the wet grass, circling the manor to get to the place where Trevelyan was waiting, stamping her feet impatiently. She was wearing a long, practical skirt and had a small basket in one hand.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted something."

"It's nothing. It's good to see you, Trevelyan."

Trevelyan may have blushed a little, but it was hard to tell in the dark.

"I’ve thought it all over," she said, moving in the direction of the park. "I don't think it's suspicious that you're watching over me at night? And some plants you really do have to pick in the dark. For example the leaves of maidenhair..."

Cassandra's knowledge about plants was limited to spinach and elfroot, and Trevelyan's soft voice made it easy for her thoughts to wander. Before she even knew what she was doing, she started thinking whether she could have done the same for Galyan what she did for that girl who was now walking ahead of her, swinging her basket cheerfully. She had a feeling she had known her before she even saw her in the Ostwick Circle; their library suggested that Trevelyan had made a rookie mistake when healing Cassandra, using – at least to some extent – her own life force. That particular interpretation of events suited Cassandra – she didn't mind using magic as a convenient excuse to explain all the things she couldn't otherwise comprehend with reason.

Trevelyan finally realised she was talking to the trees and bushes. "I know that herbalism isn't all that exciting for someone who hunts dragons..."

"No, it was unbecoming of me." Cassandra swung her arm invitingly. "Please, continue."

"Some herbs, if picked at night, are more efficient," explained Trevelyan, taking out a small sickle from her basket. "Especially if picked in places such like these."

Cassandra realised they had reached the northern part of the estate, one she didn't visit very often. There were ruins here, some undistinguishable from the natural terrain, which always made her anxious.

If Trevelyan also felt that, she didn't show it. She pulled up her skirt, her white thigh flashing briefly, walked over a pile of mossy stones and kneeled down next to a tuft of some herbs, while Cassandra looked around vigilantly, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword. She had a feeling they were being watched, even though she couldn't imagine why someone would be here this time of the night.

"Do you come here alone?" she asked.

"I came here once after dark, but I got so scared"—Trevelyan put the herbs in her basket—"that this time I wanted to come with you."

"Thank you for placing your trust in me, but this place really is... disturbing."

"Don't head back yet." Trevelyan's warm, slightly wet hand grabbed Cassandra's wrist just below her gloves. "I wanted to show you something."

"Yeah? What?"

"You'll see."

Trevelyan pulled Cassandra along into a cluster of rhododendrons which turned out to be really thick, the touch of fleshy flowers and stiff twigs noticeable even through their clothes. "It's strange you don't know this place."

"We used to play by the lake when we were younger. It's been a long time since I was here."

The thicket finally grew thinner and soon they were standing at the edge of a small clearing, at the centre of which there was a single gnarly apple tree. Trevelyan raised her hand and a magic ball of light appeared, illuminating their surroundings. At once everything – leafy bushes, sleeping flowers, carpets of moss - became eerily bluish.

It occurred to Cassandra that her uncle, too, was able to do that. He could also raise the dead at his service and there was that one time she saw one of these corpses here, her uncle's death apparently not relieving it of its duty towards him.

She flinched, too immersed for a moment in that other timeline. Trevelyan glanced at her, frowning.

"Everything alright?"

Cassandra shook off that feeling. "Yes," she said. "It's beautiful here, Trevelyan. I completely forgot how beautiful."

"It is, isn't it? It's not just me, because of all these years spent locked in a tower, hunched over a desk..."

"It's not just you. This place is remarkable."

They crossed the clearing and stopped near the apple tree, careful as not to disturb the grass and the flowers. The ground surrounding the tree was soft from the moss, its texture resembling the finest as Orlesian carpet. Trevelyan let the magic light fade out and turned her trusting, open face towards Cassandra. Suddenly, Cassandra was hit not only by a flame of desire, but also by a hot wave of something much more.

"Thank you for taking me here," she said and kissed Trevelyan. The bookish cliché of it all overcame her in a sudden, but not completely unpleasant manner.

"I wanted to draw your thoughts away from everything else," murmured Trevelyan, pushing her back against the tree.

The basket fell out of Trevelyan's hand, landing somewhere next to their legs and the magic light dissipated completely, leaving them standing in soft darkness. After a moment the sword belt and doublet embroidered with Pentaghast crest joined the basket on the grass as the two of them sank down slowly, Cassandra finally sitting on the ground, and Trevelyan straddling her legs. In the omni present silence their breaths seemed to carry a long way, even though it was impossible for anyone to hear them.

Cassandra untied Trevelyan's blouse and slipped a hand under her skirt, slowly going up her thigh. Trevelyan raised herself on her knees and, commanding, wet and hot to the touch, pressed Cassandra's head to her breasts. It wasn't the most comfortable position, so after a while Cassandra grabbed her waist and turned her to her side, kneeling over her to take the rest of her clothes off. Trevelyan raised her hips helpfully to help with taking off the skirt, but her blouse was so dishevelled already, Cassandra only pulled it up. She kissed Trevelyan's belly, her hip, her groin, and then leant against Trevelyan's knee and raised her head.

"May I...?"

"You may," said Trevelyan eagerly. "Be my guest, there's nothing standing in your way."

"Tell me right away if something feels wrong. I lack experience in this matter."

Trevelyan giggled charmingly. "I will not fail to do that, lady Cassandra."

Propped up on her elbows, Cassandra slipped a hand under Trevelyan's cheeks and got down to business. It was different from everything she had done so far in her life and at first she felt ridiculous, the princess of Cumberland with her naked ass in the air, kneeling before her court enchanter, but then Trevelyan grabbed her hair the way she had done the other night and suddenly everything was perfect. When Trevelyan clamped her thighs over Cassandra's ears, and then slowly loosened the hold, Cassandra kissed the inner side of her thigh and lay down next to her. Trevelyan rolled over, leaning back against Cassandra's chest. She was trembling, so Cassandra covered her with some of their discarded clothes and hugged her close.

"I didn't expect to end up here when I was leaving the Circle."

"Would you like to be somewhere else, Trevelyan?"

"Right now? A thousand times no." She reached backwards with her arm and put her hand on the back of Cassandra's neck.

"And in general?"

"Not anymore. I got out after all. And you?"

"Sometimes I have these thoughts—" She stopped when she realised that Trevelyan's hand was no longer caressing her neck. "Not about us, don't worry. In general, about my life."

The hand resumed the caress. "What kind of thoughts?"

"Like I was destined for something else," she said. Suddenly ashamed, she pressed her face into Trevelyan's hair. "Like I'm not doing what I'm supposed to."

Trevelyan got out of her embrace and sat up, reflexively covering her breasts. "I think you can do whatever you want to do. You can change your life, live it the way you want to live it. You helped me change mine and that's all you need to do for yourself."

"It's not that easy."

They sat there for a while in spine-tingling silence, when Cassandra heard some rustling in rhododendrons. Trevelyan inhaled loudly. The next time a twig crunched, Cassandra reached for her sword and got up. Whatever it was, it didn't repeat itself anymore after that.

"It's probably an animal," whispered Trevelyan.

"You're probably right. Get dressed all the same." Cassandra sheathed her sword and handed Trevelyan her skirt.

She grabbed Trevelyan's hand to avoid getting lost in the dark and she didn't let go of it until they stepped into the shaft of light coming from the patio.


	5. Chapter 5

"Where are we going tomorrow?" asked Trevelyan, stretching and then falling back down onto Cassandra's legs. "Your thighs are so lithe. I bet it's because of all these hours spent in fighting stances."

"To Cumberland," said Cassandra, flexing her quadriceps. "I'm sure I've mentioned it already. We must confer with Ferdinand in his summer residence."

"What should I wear for that occasion? What are you taking with you?"

"I don't know." Cassandra struggled not to fall asleep. It had been a long day, full of tiresome meetings and bedroom acrobatics that required the use of some muscles she hadn't even been aware she had. "Gala armour, definitely."

"I don't have any."

"Not yet. We will collect your set from the armourer in Cumberland, so you are presentable at the royal court."

"R—royal court?" Trevelyan sat up straight. "We will be visiting the court of the Nevarran king?!"

"I told you we're going to Ferdinand's summer residence."

"Well, you did, but these complicated affairs of the Pentaghast family still overwhelm me a little."

"Trevelyan..."

"Is he your father's brother? Your uncle?"

"No, my father's cousin. My second cousin."

"And you're tenth in line?"

"Trust me, rules of succession are a very complicated matter in our country." Cassandra sat next to Trevelyan and patted her shoulder comfortingly. "But yes, there are nine people in line before me, most of them perfectly healthy. Not that I would like to become queen one day, no."

"Why is that?"

"For a variety of reasons." She got up, reaching for her tunic. "Starting with the fact that it's all duty and responsibility, and no pleasure such as running across a rooftop to sneak in to a certain mage's quarters."

It took Trevelyan a moment to realise it was a joke; then she laughed and threw Cassandra’s leggings in her direction.

"Secondly, everyone is just waiting for you to make a mistake so they can throw you to the wolves." Cassandra put them on and buckled her belt. "Even the purpose of this meeting we are going to attend isn't coming up with some sort of strategy. It's more of an annual evaluation whether Ferdinand is still the right person for the position."

"I don't understand," admitted Trevelyan. She was sitting on the bed, half covered by the sheets pooled around her. "What will you do if he's not the right person anymore?"

"He will be dethroned," explained Cassandra, putting her sandals on. "Why do you think our family is so big? The more relatives you have, the bigger the chances that you will manage to hold on to your crown... And that you won't run out of them once someone starts retaliating."

"I don't mean to offend you, but that’s terrible!"

Cassandra shrugged. "You didn't offend me," she said. "It is the way it is. Remember to be ready come dawn, we need to leave early or else we'll get stuck at the gates.” She leant over the bed, but Trevelyan wouldn't let herself be kissed right away.

"Why are you taking me with you anyway?"

"What do you mean, why? You're part of the court." Cassandra grabbed her chin. "Besides, everyone always takes their mages with them."

"There will be other mages there?!" Now Trevelyan sounded appalled at the idea, but Cassandra was already slipping away through the window, all smooth and efficient.

If the position of the moon on the night's sky was to be any indication, it was very late. She waited until the moon hid behind the clouds to climb up the drainpipe to the roof, and then rushed over to the other side. From the vantage point on the roof she noticed someone standing on the terrace, but it was too dark to recognise them – all she could see in the shadows was a long, white cloak.

She slipped inside her room through the window and went out to the terrace, that time the way most people usually did it, that is, using stairs. The mysterious apparition was standing in front of the balustrade, looking out into the garden.

"Mom? What are you doing here so late?"

The Duchess looked at Cassandra over her shoulder. She was wearing a silver dressing gown - up close it wasn't as striking as it was from afar.

"I couldn't sleep. I hope I didn't wake you, Cassandra."

"No, I wasn't sleeping." She crossed the terrace and stopped next to her mother. The silence that followed the sound of her steps was slowly dying away; she could hear their breathing and insects chirping in the bushes. "I can see you're worried."

"I am not, but I have a bad feeling."

"Which means you are worried." Cassandra put her arm around her mother's shoulders. "There's no need to. If everything goes right, we'll be back in three days’ time. Like Grandfather used to say, you shouldn't worry over what you cannot control."

"I cannot do that. Please promise me that you will take care of yourself."

"I always take care of everyone. Go to bed, Mum. Open your window to let some air in and put your head to the pillow. Sleep will come."

"Thank you." Her mother hugged her and if she somehow suspected what Cassandra had been doing earlier this day, she didn't say anything. After a moment she went back inside, leaving behind only the sound of her slippers tapping against the floor.

Cassandra leant over the balustrade. The crickets and frogs never ceased in their concerts and the air was thick and wet with a heady smell of plants.

In the morning Trevelyan was indeed ready come dawn, dressed in one of the outfits made especially for her, eyes red as a rabbit’s, but hair braided up in a fancy crown. Her outfit, some of its parts hanging loosely around her body, others hugging it closely, did wonders to her figure. Cassandra was convinced she did a good job of hiding her wanton stares, that is, until Anthony rode up to her.

"Have you caught an exotic disease of some sort or is there something in your eye?" he asked, nodding his head in Trevelyan's direction, who rode at the front with their father.

"Be quiet!" Cassandra rose up in the saddle with her arm outstretched, but Anthony ducked the blow easily. "For Andraste's sake, Tony, Dad can't know about this."

"Who do you take me for? I won't say a word but you need to be more careful."

"I'm very careful!" She slowed down her horse so they would fall back a bit more.

"Father was looking for you in your quarters yesterday evening. I told him you probably went for a run when he came to me."

"I didn't know... Thank you."

"You're welcome. I can cover for you. Jealously." When he spoke again, his voice was lower, whisper-like, "So what is she like? Trevelyan?"

"What!" she snorted. "I can't believe you're asking me about this!"

"I don't mean, you know, in bed. Just... in general."

"I refuse to be a part of this conversation." Cassandra spurred her horse. "Let's forget about this."

"It was but an innocent question!"

"You don't do innocent questions." Hurriedly, she rode past a group of guardsmen to join her father and Trevelyan, who was currently in the process of telling an anecdote about her family from Ostwick, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. "The road looks good, but I would go through Stavingby all the same."

"We can do that," allowed the Duke. "Mistress hasn't seen it yet...?"

Cassandra shook her head and Trevelyan straightened up in the saddle, excited.

At the crossroads they took the path to the left and soon they were entering the sleepy Stavingby. The villagers peeked from behind their fences: girls waved at the guardsmen and a handsome miller waved at Trevelyan who pretended not to see him. Just past the village there was a forest, this time of year thick enough to obscure what really was there. Trevelyan didn't realise what it was until they reached the alley with the monuments. She leant forward in the saddle and looked hard, a hand put to her forehead.

"What is it? An old city?"

The Duke laughed good-naturedly. Cassandra frowned when she felt the humid, earthy smell.

"These roofs and steeples may seem like it, Mistress, but it is the necropolis of Cumberland. For ages now we've been burying the finest of our citizens here."

"Is your family vault somewhere around here as well?"

"It is," said Cassandra and the Duke in unison, and that was it. They reached the top of the hill and Trevelyan occupied herself with taking in the view of the cemetery from there.

Cassandra often took this way while travelling, but she didn't usually spare the time to admire the scenery. It was Trevelyan's reaction that made her realise that the place was quite unique. After some time, tapered chapels and richly decorated tombs gave way to thick bushes and then to the borough. The Cemetery Gate was never quite as busy as the Northern Gate, so they got into the city fairly quickly and parted ways at the College Square. The Duke with the guardsmen rode in the direction of the Summer Palace, while Cassandra and Trevelyan headed for the market district.

"I've been thinking," said Trevelyan as they navigated the streets full of people, carriages, oxen, carts and barrows. "If your father is Duke of Cumberland, why aren't you living here?"

"Good question," said Cassandra. "Imagine that by our family we are thought of as the eccentric ones. It all started with my father, because when he became Duke, he took my mother, a few servants, our governess Sabra and moved to that manor by the lake, leaving this grand palace, the vault and thousands of servants behind. It wasn't that big of a loss for him because he already wasn't very popular."

"This seems strange. Occasional hateful rants about the Fereldans aside, he seems well-liked."

"First thing he did wrong was not agreeing to marry cousin Lorena, because, as you may have already noticed, it seems proper in our family to take your cousin for a wife. But Dad met Mom during the Grand Tournament, won the boon for her and fought the entire family for so long that they finally let him marry her."

"He's a romantic. Just like you are."

"The general consensus is that I am just as odd as my father, so you may have a point there. Once Ferdinand got the throne, Dad stopped socialising. We take care of most things through correspondence or through me."

"Why is that?"

"It's a story for a different time. But I have been thinking..." She slowed down her horse, having noticed a sign with two crossed swords. "I realised they don't like him mostly because he is living his life the way he wanted to. It doesn't happen often in our family."

"It doesn't happen often in general," said Trevelyan. "We're here, aren't we?"

They left their horses outside and entered the armourer's shop. His assistants took Trevelyan away to take her measurements, while Cassandra looked over the suits for sale and peeked into his workshop. Armourer Keban, originally from Orzammar but currently full-fledged Nevarran, liked to ask her how the things he crafted did on the battlefield. He took it as a personal offence when he heard about that last time a dragon defeated Cassandra in battle, but an order for a custom made armour for a mage seemed to have improved his mood.

"There is always the question of which way to go – protection or agility?" he said, showing Cassandra the prototype. It was a light scale armour with a linen tunic as a base. "When it comes to you, lady Cassandra, I know the answer, but here I had to go in blind."

Trevelyan emerged from the back of the shop, ramrod straight and tinkling slightly. The final version of the armour had a leather collar and pauldrons painted with Pentaghasts' colours. The armourer also added gloves and leather boots with metal elements, and topped it all off with a fancy belt.

"How is it?" asked Cassandra. "How are you feeling?"

"A bit strange," admitted Trevelyan. "I think I need to get used to the weight. I'm all sweaty."

Cassandra and Keban laughed loudly.

"My lady, it's one fourth of the weight of a standard suit of armour," said the armourer. "It looks like it fits though."

"Yes, yes! It does. It's beautiful. And pretty expensive, I assume," said Trevelyan, uncertain.

The armourer nodded eagerly. Cassandra glared at him. "It's a gift," she said. "And not a lap of luxury, but something you really need."

When Trevelyan went back to get her things, Cassandra bent down to the dwarf. "Add that to Duke Matthias' bill."

"As always, my lady."

It was very hot outside. The flags hung still from the posts and all the horses had gathered in the same spot where the roof of the neighbouring building granted some shadow. Trevelyan approached her horse, gripping her new outfit tighter under her arm.

"Thank you," she said. "I don't know if I can repay you."

"You don't need to." Cassandra patted her horse on the neck. "You risk your life for us and will continue to do so, it is only logical you have the appropriate armour for that."

"Still." Trevelyan looked straight into Cassandra's eyes. "Where to now?"

"We should head for the palace, they will be serving lunch soon. But let's not. Let's go somewhere else, lady Trevelyan."

"Lunch seems like a good idea though."

"I know just the place."

Much later, Cassandra identified that seemingly innocent moment as a turning point.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit hits the fan. a bit.

There were many roads leading to the quayside, but Cassandra chose the one with the most shadow – a lane with trees on both sides, leading along the city walls. It was one of the oldest parts of the city, and so Trevelyan looked around, shielding her eyes with her hand when the light reflecting off the marble buildings got almost blinding.

They stumbled upon a division of the royal infantry. The knights parted upon seeing them and the centurion even took off his helmet.

"I have never felt more like a knight," confessed Trevelyan when they passed the infantry. "I mean, I know they were bowing to you, not to me, but still."

"You wanted to become a knight if I recall correctly?"

"I did. I knew I wouldn't inherit the castle." Trevelyan wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her nose was red from the sun. "I have an older sister. And I didn't want to serve the Chantry."

"Why did you help us, anyway? Back then, in Wildervale?"

"You passed by us on your way, remember?"

"No. I apologise, but I really don't."

"I remember. Your brother found us."

"And?" Cassandra rose up on her horse. There was a familiar sign at the end of the lane. Farther away, ship masts in the marina could be seen.

"He was looking for someone who knew healing spells. So I volunteered."

"What gain was in it for you?"

"There was none. The templar watching over us wasn't too pleased that I was leaving. I think he was expecting me to run away. It didn't even cross my mind."

"But you did volunteer to help someone you didn't even know. I would say it's quite chivalrous."

Trevelyan thought about it for a second and then nodded, smiling. Looking at her made Cassandra all warm on the inside, and it wasn't the kind of warmth that had much to do with the scorching heat outside. She could swear that the sea here had never been as clear, or the colours of flowers in the courtyard so vivid.

"What is this place?" asked Trevelyan, getting off the horse, her new armour, currently strapped to the saddle, clanging as she did it.

"The best tavern in Cumberland." Cassandra joined her on the ground. "I hope you like seafood?"

"I love it! At home we used to eat oysters when they were in season."

"Good." From the boy standing at the gate she ordered a plate of oysters with bread, and then turned to the stable boy to tell him to fetch wet towels for the horses. "If we want to ride through the city, we need to give the horses some time to rest. I don't suppose you want to walk."

"Couldn't you call for a litter or something like that? I bet your king doesn't like to martyr himself the way your eccentric family does."

Cassandra frowned. "Ferdinand doesn't own a litter," she said. "I think."

The stables were almost full, but they managed to find two empty stalls at the back. It was the same with the tables – the only free ones were those closest to the smelly, loud harbour. Trevelyan took off her shoes and kept on touching Cassandra's legs under the table, a sly smile on her face. She also kept stealing the breadsticks.

Cassandra grabbed her hand. "Stop that or you'll be punished."

"Will I?" Trevelyan bit her lip. "And who will punish me?"

"I will," said Cassandra, but her voice wobbled a little, a telltale sign. "You don't listen to anyone else after all."

When a group of Antivan sailors entered the tavern, they got up and made their way out. The stables were so loud, it took Cassandra a few minutes to realise that someone was saying something to Trevelyan.

"Who do my eyes see?" they said in an annoying voice. Cassandra froze, unseen in the stall where she had been just now checking the horse's hooves. "A familiar face!"

"It seems so," said Trevelyan, her voice perfectly neutral.

"All alone in the big world?" continued the man. "But there's the livery. So you're still chained, it's just the chain that has changed."

Cassandra straightened up slowly, letting the annoyance show on her face. The two templars that stood next to the entrance to the next stall took a step back. Trevelyan, paper white and clearly furious, kept her hand on the staff strapped to her back.

"Lady Trevelyan is travelling under the auspices of the Pentaghasts," Cassandra said coldly. "If there is a problem, you can take it up with me."

"No problem at all," muttered one of the templars, already retreating. "I would like to apologise for our behaviour, my lady."

The second one didn't say anything; he just backed away, his expression sour. Cassandra had a feeling she knew him from somewhere.

"It's Marcus from our Circle," said Trevelyan quietly. "But what is he doing here?! What a jerk!"

"An impertinent slob," said Cassandra. "Let's go before even more of his kind comes here."

She led her horse out from the stall and started heading for the gate, when suddenly she realised that Trevelyan wasn't at her side. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw the two templars pushing and shoving a shackled man between them. Trevelyan was standing a few steps behind her, one hand to her mouth, the other holding the reins.

The prisoner was sickly thin and dressed in shabby robes. Paying no attention to Cassandra's presence, templar Marcus kicked him hard. Trevelyan cried out and ran forward.

"Get off of him!"

"Trevelyan!" Cassandra grabbed her shoulder. "What are you—You know this man?"

"I do! Remember that apostate I told you about, the one that taught me healing magic? It's him!" Trevelyan jerked forward again, but this time Cassandra didn't let her move towards him. "We have to help him!"

Templar Marcus finally noticed the commotion and, premeditation clear on his face, lifted the mage off the ground only to push him down again. The prisoner fell down, this time face up. He had long, fair hair and looked Fereldan.

"To beat the weak and chained," he said, trying to stand up. "It's so like you."

A red light appeared between his chained hands. Cassandra knew right away what it was. As did the templar who raised his gloved fist in response, and as did Trevelyan, because she redoubled her efforts to break free of the grip holding her in place. Cassandra took a step forward.

"Stop that!"

"He's an apostate, lady Pentaghast! A very rowdy one as well."

"Rowdy or not, beating and yanking him about isn't very gentlemanly."

"I told them that myself," said the prisoner, blowing a stray hair away from his face. He focused his eyes on Cassandra and Trevelyan, standing behind her. "Thank you for your help, my brave lady and... Trevelyan?"

"You two know each other?" asked templar Marcus. "That's touching. Really."

"We should go," said the second templar. "Let's take him away from here, we can spend the night somewhere else."

The mage apparently saw an opening and took it – he lit the fire in his hands, but wasn't fast enough. Templar Marcus floored him with one heavy blow. Trevelyan cried out and grabbed her staff, Cassandra unsheathed her sword, and the second templar put his hands together, making the fire disappear immediately, as if it was blown away by a gust of wind.

"We won't be needing your help anymore," he said, grabbing the dizzy prisoner by the collar.

"I wasn't offering it," said Cassandra, stepping closer, her legs slightly bent in the knees. "I just can't allow you to treat anyone like that, regardless of their origins or class. It is unbecoming."

"Anders..."

"Trevelyan, don't come any closer, please."

"To strike a knight of the Chantry is to strike the Chantry itself," warned templar Marcus. "Even the Pentaghasts won't get away with it."

"Maybe if you behaved like knights."

Marcus, unable to keep his cool any longer, moved forward. Cassandra dodged the first blow easily and hit him in the back with the pommel of her sword. He stumbled, but didn't fall, only sprang back up from his knee. She grabbed his hand and twisted it behind his back so hard he screamed, and then put her sword to his neck.

"Do you really think they wouldn't believe me if I told them I killed you in self defence?" she whispered into his ear. "If you hit that prisoner again, I swear to you this is what is going to happen. I don't know if you are aware of this, but the Pentaghasts don't joke very often."

"Cassandra..." interrupted Trevelyan, her voice strangely timid.

Cassandra raised her eyes and saw another four templars coming over to see what all the noise was about.

"What is going on here?" asked one of them, apparently highest in rank.

"Ser Marcus doesn't know how to treat his charge," said Cassandra, letting go of him. "He needed to be reminded."

"It was an assault!" yelled Marcus, holding his damaged arm close to his chest. "The witnesses will confirm it!"

"I don't see why something as straightforward as handing over a mage should be so complicated," said the templar, giving Cassandra a knowing look. It looked like Marcus' methods were widely known and not exactly approved of. "Let us not blow it out of proportion."

"Remember what I said," warned Cassandra, sheathing her sword. "Let's go, Trevelyan. We have a whole city to ride through."

"We can't just leave him with them," whispered Trevelyan, not taking her eyes away from the prisoner, who had apparently decided it's time to stop trying to break free and now was just standing there resigned, his head hanging low and shoulders slumped. "The last time he was caught it was because of me. If he's tried running away since, they will put him in solitary..."

"There's nothing more we can do, Trevelyan. Do you see those templars over there? They will take him from this madman and treat him better."

"How can you be sure? Templars aren't known for their leniency towards mages!"

"Trevelyan, let's go, please, before they try to take you too." Cassandra's patience was wearing thin. She grabbed Trevelyan's hand and dragged her away. "The sooner we go, the lesser the chance that the Chantry will intervene."

"Even you bow down to the Chantry?" snapped Trevelyan. "For Andraste's sake, your cousin is the king!"

"Which doesn't mean that apostates can run about Cumberland as they please," said Cassandra, getting on her horse. The sensible templar was giving Marcus a lecture, while someone else was handing a cup of water to the prisoner. "If you wish, we can turn to the College, they will pay closer attention to the treatment of that... what was his name... Anders."

"They won't care about one mage! And he's a good man, Cassandra," said Trevelyan hectically. "He helped me back when I ran away from home... He met a fifteen year old girl, naive and all alone, and he helped her! He shared everything he had with me, even taught me something that saved your life!"

"What else would you have me do, Trevelyan?" Cassandra halted her horse; it neighed angrily. People were slowly gathering around them. "My hands are tied. I couldn't beat all those templars senseless and let that apostate go on the first ship to Antiva! That is not how it is done!"

"Oh, I see, so every mage's place is in the Circle after all? Even if said Circle holds them captive and beats them?"

"I'm sorry." Cassandra shrugged. "Like I said, we can file a complaint..."

Trevelyan shook her head. "I thought you were different," she said.

"Different? Another person wouldn't even have spat in his direction, Trevelyan!"

"I thought I helped you understand how it is for us, mages! Do you really believe his fate will be different just because this time he won't be handled by a bunch of brutes?!"

"You know perfectly well a lot is up to the local Knight Commander and the First Enchanter. It isn't, sadly, up to me, it isn't even up to Ferdinand. I really am sorry, Trevelyan... I can do something, but I'm not all-powerful."

Trevelyan wiped her eyes. "Fine. You're right, let's go. There's nothing more for us to do here."

They rode to the castle in silence. The more time Cassandra spent thinking about what had happened, the more frustrated and angry she was; mostly at herself, but also at the coincidence. If they only had left a moment earlier, or a moment later, they wouldn't even have met the templars and that mage.

She had prepared a whole story about the Summer Palace, together with some anecdotes, that she wanted to tell Trevelyan once she rode through its gates for the first time, but she didn't expected to do it in such a sour atmosphere. As if that wasn't enough, Anthony was waiting for them in the stables, his expression ominous.

"What happened?" asked Cassandra, getting off of her horse.

"Father was looking for you everywhere, he's furious with you for being late. I hid here since I didn't want his angry tirades to focus on me."

Cassandra snorted angrily. Anthony just raised his hands. "Don't kill the messenger! I only wanted to warn you."

Trevelyan was unhooking her travelling bags from her horse in ice-cold silence. Anthony nodded his head at her, his expression inquisitive. Cassandra just raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

They took the official entrance to the palace – each step was so polished up it was almost glossy, and there were draperies hanging everywhere, probably to show off the splendour of their family and the whole Nevarra, even though they mostly featured worried-looking people with tombstones in the back. The Great Hall was already being prepared for the feast and there were panicked servants everywhere. Cassandra stopped the butler to ask him where their quarters were.

"You should go change," she said to Trevelyan quietly before she had a chance to protest. "I'll take care of everything. I'll see you at dinner."

"What is wrong with her?" asked Anthony when Trevelyan disappeared around the corner.

"You don't want to know and I don't want you joking about this."

"It's something serious?"

They started heading for the conference room, taking two steps at a time.

"You could say that. Open the door!"

The royal guardsmen pushed open the large double doors made of bronze. The crème de la crème of their family turned their heads to take a look at the newcomers. Ferdinand, looking old with hair almost completely white now, took his eyes off the map of the Waking Sea.

"Cassandra! Tony! My dear family!"


	7. Chapter 7

Cassandra thought she did a good job of hiding her irritation at the gathering, but when she finally looked at her father, he shot her an annoyed glare. As she predicted, she didn't miss much – the people gathered, as always, took their time greeting each other and updating everyone on the recent state of their courts and lands. As much as her father tried to remind them what the cause of their gathering was, there was no stopping the countless, boring digressions, as well as all the gossiping and talking behind the backs of people that were not present. Cassandra suspected that the biggest reason her father was in a bad mood was because she had left him all alone in that snake pit. And he did make sure she knew he was angry by not speaking a single word to her. However, it looked like no one yet knew anything about the incident at the tavern.

After some time has passed – definitely too much, if someone asked Cassandra for her opinion – Ferdinand called for a break and everyone moved to the guest wing to catch a breath from stabbing their relatives in the back, but also to prepare for a round two. Cassandra usually hated all the hair curling and putting on all these fancy clothes, but at least it was something she could do in relative solitude. She took a seat on the bed and braced her chin on her hand, her eyes following the maid bustling about the room. Could she even feel the things she felt for Trevelyan for someone else, like that girl? Pursuing such notions was never her forte, especially when it concerned personal insights, but she didn't think it likely. To test it, she imagined Trevelyan standing before her, facing away, putting the dressing gown on her naked body and it wasn't long before she was struck with a hot wave of desire. She felt something else, too, but there was a reason Anthony often called her emotionally stunted– she could neither name nor categorise it.

She sighed and stood up, heading for the basin with fresh water, where she washed and dried herself off. Then she put on her braies, pants made of calfskin, a doublet with a stand-up collar made of silk, and the best dragonskin boots she had.

"A braid, Your Grace?" asked the maid, when Cassandra took a seat in front of the mirror.

"Maybe not this time. Could you... pin it up somehow, so it wouldn't fall into my eyes?"

"Naturally, Your Grace." She seemed surprised by Cassandra's request, but still pinned her hair up in a courtly fashion, a bit too complicated for Cassandra's tastes, but very smart and fashionable, judging by what she saw earlier on the streets of Cumberland.

When she entered the Great Hall, the musicians were already playing and everyone was taking their seats, discussing this year's Grand Tournament. Trevelyan was seated at the far end of the table, surrounded by mages and chevaliers, and didn't look like she was enjoying herself. Cassandra, whose assigned seat was between prince Wilhelm and marquise Barbara, leant forward a bit and tried to catch her gaze, but Trevelyan wouldn’t look up from her plate.

"You look like a thousand gold dragons today, Cassandra," blurted out Wilhelm.

"Thank you, cousin," said Cassandra, fixing her eyes on Wilhelm's face, dotted with pimples. "You don't look so bad yourself."

"Is that your guest?" asked the marquise, nosy as always.

"That is our court mage, baroness Trevelyan. It's her first time at the royal court and I think she's a bit overwhelmed."

"A mage? Wonderful! She will surely have a lot to talk about with our Casimir."

Somehow Cassandra doubted that, because Casimir was a conceited buffoon whose main job was preparing haemorrhoid ointments. However, Trevelyan was so ostentatious in ignoring her that Cassandra didn't even feel very sorry for her. She motioned at the cup-bearer, because dealing with her family was always better when everyone was at least slightly drunk, and began drinking eagerly. The marquise didn't even try to keep up with her, because she was watching her waistline and didn't eat much, but Wilhelm was scraping through, making for quite good company, too. For a while Cassandra managed to forget about Trevelyan, but one look down the table did it for her – the templars and the apostate all came back at once. Trevelyan must have noticed her looking, because she didn't waste any time turning her attention back to the boring Casimir.

After the main part of the feast everyone split into fractions and the mages, as they often did, disappeared into the anterooms. Cassandra and Wilhelm joined the group passionately discussing the Grand Tournament, but Cassandra mostly just stared at her cup, teeth clenched together. Everything she might have felt earlier was gradually turning into nothing but pure anger. Even though she didn't think she could have done something differently with the apostate, she was tormented by the thoughts that maybe there had been a way, which in turn made her more and more angry at Trevelyan. Cassandra had never before doubted her own judgement like that and she wasn't really enjoying the experience now.

Finally she slammed her cup against the table and left for the gardens, followed by confused stares. She sat there on a bench, unable to make up her mind, when suddenly she heard someone approaching from the alley. It was Trevelyan, her pace quick and decisive, so unlike her usual dignified gait. She was wearing silk robes she left their castle in this morning. A long necklace swayed temptingly down her neckline.

"I would like to speak with you," she said, stopping in front of Cassandra.

"And I with you."

Trevelyan made a move as if to sit down next to her, but Cassandra stopped her. "Not here. Meet me at the next bell in the room atop the tower in the guest wing." She motioned with her head to said tower. "We can talk freely there."

"Very well."

Cassandra was sure Trevelyan's eyes were following her when she was walking away; she shivered, feeling the hair at the back of her neck stand up. She went back to the Great Hall and sat down next to Anthony as if nothing had happened.

"What was that?"

"I needed some air," she said, wiping her forehead. "I think I drank too much of that Antivan wine."

"That's unlike you."

"People change, Tony."

Her father was still angry at her, but for once Cassandra was glad for it. When the guests began talking about the absent and deceased relatives and in-laws, she excused herself claiming weariness and left the feast, grabbing a bottle of port wine on her way out. She didn't feel like she fit in with her family ever since her uncle had been executed, and today that feeling only grew stronger. Besides, considering the topic of conversation, she expected that everyone would soon start arguing and father would end up drinking with Anthony in the stables late into the night.

She ran up the stairs to the top of the tower, avoiding guardsmen and drunk relatives. The room upstairs was, as usual, unoccupied – she had to forcefully push the door with her shoulder to open it, and when she did, she could smell the dust in the air. She opened the windows and brushed off all the pillows from armchairs and chairs. It hadn't changed much since the times she and Tony used it as a secret playground.

She opened the wine and sat at the table, one foot tapping anxiously. Trevelyan didn't make her wait long – once the bell rang, she knocked at the door and peeked inside.

"Come in, please."

Trevelyan closed the door and leant against them. Cassandra stood up and put her hands behind her back.

"I didn't like the way we parted today," she started. "You must have noticed it's not easy for me to articulate my feelings, but I would like to try."

"Go ahead, then."

"I condemn the way that mage was treated today and I would like the templar responsible for that mistreatment to pay for it. Unfortunately, in such a situation my hands are tied. I also didn't want you... to do anything brash, lest they interpreted it as an attack. Which is why you might have thought my behaviour too passive."

It was the most she spoke at once ever since she remembered. She was short of air and had to catch a breath.

"I understand it all, Cassandra," said Trevelyan with some effort. "I wanted to apologise for my behaviour today. I know you couldn't do more and I had no right to expect it from you. If it was someone other than Anders... But it was he who made me realise that there is a world for mages outside of the Circle and I wouldn't be standing here today if it weren’t for him." Her voice broke. "Unfortunately... I also realised today that we really do come from two entirely different backgrounds and may never understand each other fully."

"What do you mean?" Cassandra shook her head. "I thought we agreed with each other!"

"Maybe we do, in a way, but our starting points are so different..."

Trevelyan lowered her head. Cassandra clenched her fists and unclenched them, and then she felt a sudden but unavoidable wave of something that only made her move forward, towards Trevelyan. She pressed her against the door and kissed forcefully, and even though Trevelyan protested at first, she did nothing to push her away, only pressed down on her shoulders as if she wanted to climb up Cassandra's body and escape. It was in vain, though, because Cassandra was much stronger. She stopped Trevelyan with her thigh and her arms, pressed her nose into her neck and then into that place on her sternum, between her breasts.

"I told you, I don't care about that," she said through clenched teeth, pulling up Trevelyan's robes and grabbing her thighs. Trevelyan made a high-pitched noise and eagerly wrapped one leg around Cassandra's hips, but Cassandra turned her around and pressed her chest to Trevelyan's back. "Tell me if you want to stop, because we can stop."

"No, no," Trevelyan moaned, shivering under Cassandra's palms. "Don't stop, don’t ever stop."

Cassandra grabbed her breasts through the material and then moved her hands slowly down Trevelyan's body. Trevelyan braced her head on the door and arched her back. Cassandra spread her legs with one knee and slipped two fingers inside her, perhaps a bit too forcefully, because Trevelyan hissed and banged her fists against the wooden door, but then it was beautiful, only beautiful, as beautiful as it only can be when the soles of the shoes slide on the floor and clothes stand in the way. Trevelyan's skin vas velvety, her back dotted with small moles. Eventually Trevelyan bit the hand covering her mouth, came and went completely limp in Cassandra's arms.

Cassandra held her through the afterglow, then kissed her neck and, putting one hand under Trevelyan's knees, lifted her up. Trevelyan put her arm around Cassandra's neck but otherwise let herself be carried to bed. Cassandra arranged her there carefully, as if she was about to pose for a painting, and lay down next to her, sweaty and wonderfully empty, devoid of everything that had been tormenting her. The feast in the Great Hall must have taken another turn, because instead of boring court music, they could hear the lyrics of popular Nevarran songs.

Trevelyan's breath was gradually slowing down, but Cassandra's not, as if she was expecting to fight someone again. After a moment, a messy head appeared in her field of vision. Trevelyan got out of her robes and proceeded to undress Cassandra too. She unclasped her doublet and unbuckled her pants, took off her boots and her undergarments, and Cassandra let her do it. She braced her feet on Trevelyan’s shoulders when she snuggled down to laie between Cassandra's legs. It always seemed exaggerated to her when she read about little deaths in the bedroom, but it really was difficult to give a more fitting name to that partial disappearing she experienced at the time. She grabbed the sheets, arched her back – and took a deep breath just as everything started slowly coming back to her.

Trevelyan rolled over, got up and walked up to the table naked. She poured wine into two cups and raised one to her mouth, a dark contour against the window.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Cassandra, finally regaining the ability to speak and move her arms and legs.

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

"Fine." She turned around, making the necklace resting comfortably between her breasts sway gently. "I'm thinking about how you insist you don't care about the obstacles, about the differences there are between us. It is admirable, but it won't make them go away."

"Give me an example of an obstacle so serious it cannot be overcome."

"Very well. For example the fact that you are a believer and I am not." Trevelyan kneeled at the edge of the bed and handed a cup to Cassandra. "Not at all."

"Tell me what it is then that you think I believe in."

"You believe in the Maker." She put her index finger and her thumb together and a small flame appeared, with which she lit the candelabra. "You believe that his divine plan is known only to Andraste, and our role is to sustain it. That everything has already been set in stone and foretold."

"And you don't agree with that."

"I don't know if that's really the way it happened." Trevelyan shrugged. "And if it did, then I don't know if the guidelines Andraste gave us are good."

"Don't you find it soothing? In all this madness that surrounds us, isn't this order comforting?"

"The order that makes some people suffer unbearably? How could anyone have planned something like that?"

"Human laws cause unjust suffering too," said Cassandra. "Not everyone who got their hand cut off has stolen something. But they are necessary."

"They are. But perhaps we shouldn't cut off people's hands."

"I know what you're getting at, Trevelyan, and you have to know that I respect people with moral values above everything else," she said dead serious, looking Trevelyan straight in the eyes. "It may sound funny, considering all that sumptuousness surrounding us, but out of everyone gathered here it is you that I respect the most. However, precisely because of the respect I feel for such traits it does not come easy for me to change my opinion on any given subject."

"I know." Trevelyan touched Cassandra's hand with her own, still warm from the flame. "That was one of the things I liked about you at the beginning."

Cassandra smiled. "Come here," she said, lifting the covers up invitingly.

Trevelyan slid into bed and lay down so close to Cassandra that she could feel her with every part of her body. To be so close with someone outside of an erotic situation was strange, but not unwanted. Pleasant, even.

"Tell me about that apostate, Trevelyan."

"I've told you the most important facts." Trevelyan put a pillow under her neck. "He took care of me when I ran away from home. I was fifteen and I didn't have a clue about anything. Like a child raised in a golden cage."

"I was like that, too."

"But not that naive, I bet. Anyway... I've known since a long time, since the beginning even, who I was. But I also knew what happened to my kind – they got taken away from their homes in the middle of the night, terrified and weeping. That's why I hid it from everyone. It wasn't hard because I didn't use to put Chantry sisters' dresses on fire."

Cassandra snorted. "I thought it was just a tall tale."

"No, it really did happen, in Tantervale. Back to my sad story... One day I realised that if they hadn’t known already, they soon would. It became pretty clear when I suddenly got grounded and some knights came to ask my parents and my neighbours questions..."

"Who was it?"

Trevelyan was silent for a while, and then a grimace appeared on her face, the ugliest Cassandra had ever seen there. "My sister, Adolphine. She probably thought it was for the best... Maybe it was an accident... I wouldn't know, we haven't spoken since."

"I'm sorry."

"It happened. So I decided to go on a great run. I packed some food and two books, because that was what I thought was important back then, and made a rope of my linens—"

"Like in the stories."

"Yes, exactly. And, imagine, I did manage to run. I took my horse from the stables and just disappeared. I didn't think it through, obviously, because I didn't really know the lands outside of Ostwick, and a young girl alone on the road is easy prey... Anyway, I met him by the river. He was kneeling there, by its bank, and washing his shirt. He didn't really have anything more than that shirt. He knew right away what I was and told me that he also was on the run – his third time, no less! And he escaped from Kinloch Hold!"

"It's possible to escape from Kinloch Hold?" Cassandra reflexively thought about Galyan.

"Not now it's probably not. Anyway, if they caught him here now it means that he must have run away at least once more."

"Such determination."

"Doesn't it speak volumes about what kind of life they lead in that Circle?"

"It does, indeed. What happened next?"

"He took care of me. He taught me how to pick good spots for sleeping, how to make a meal of the leftovers you have, how to avoid the villagers who don't like strangers. He also showed me how to heal with your hands. We travelled like this for two weeks until we met a judge from Ostwick... It was an accident. He recognised me, obviously, and that was it. They captured us, took me back to Ostwick and him to Ferelden, I suppose. It was... I don't know, five years ago? I didn't think I would ever see him again."

"No wonder," murmured Cassandra. She wondered if that mage, Anders, knew Galyan and whether it would be possible to reach one through the other. It was a little uncomfortable too, the realisation of how little separated them all.

When she turned her head in Trevelyan's direction, she was already sleeping, her face pressed against Cassandra's shoulder. Her expression spoke of calm, but she held her fists clenched under her chin, as if she was cold. Cassandra, yet again overwhelmed by that feeling she couldn't quite name, put an arm around her and that was the last time she saw her before the Breach tore apart the sky.


	8. Chapter 8

She was floating, pleasantly half-asleep when someone banged at the door.

"Cass! Are you there?"

Alarmed, she sat up straight, her hand reaching for Trevelyan lying next to her. That part of the bed, however, was empty and cold.

"Tony? Come in! What happened?"

Anthony peeked inside and immediately covered his eyes with his hand. "You're naked!"

"Wouldn't be the first time." Cassandra jumped out of the bed and began assembling all necessary parts of her outfit. Trevelyan's clothes were also nowhere to be seen. She turned around and put on her doublet. "You can come in now."

Anthony closed the door with a thud. "They are looking for you, Cass," he said, his voice grave. "They took Trevelyan in the harbour."

"What?" At first she didn't understand what he was saying.

"Apparently she attacked some templars... something to do with an apostate... Complete madness!" He put his hands to his head. "They say you threatened some knight yesterday. Cass, what is going on?"

"Sweet Andraste..."

"Is that true?"

"Of course it's true! He was misbehaving and I just wanted to teach him a lesson..." She stopped, suddenly realising why Trevelyan's part of the bed was cold. "What about her, who took her? The templars?"

"Yes. She slipped into The Sea Snail to help some apostate escape... It was late at night, but they didn't send for us until dawn and everyone has been looking for you since. They remembered you from yesterday and were convinced you had something to do with that, too, but please tell me you didn't..."

"I didn't." She put her shoes on. "We were here all night. Or at least I was. She must have left." She glanced at the cup, toppled over on the floor next to the bed. "I was out cold, I didn't hear anything. What about father?"

"Nothing you wouldn't expect from him. I figured if you're not in your quarters, you would be here and I wanted to warn you."

"Thank you, Tony," she said, grateful. "And Trevelyan? Did she fight them?"

"They caught her just when she was about to set the prisoner free... She knocked down one knight, took his shield and used it to fight the rest of them. One of them has frostbite, the second is just bruised... They say someone must have taught her how to fight knights." He stopped and glanced at Cassandra, who froze with one hand put to her forehead. "I'm guessing that was you."

"I didn’t think she would use it for something like that."

"It's really bad."

"I know. Take me to them."

When they were running down the stairs, she glimpsed at her own reflection in the window – bed hair, same clothes as yesterday, paper-white face. Even to herself she did not look familiar.

They slowed down in front of the doors to the anterooms. Anthony grabbed her arm before she had the chance to open the door. "Whatever happens, know that I have your back."

She nodded and entered the room. Her father was standing by the fireplace with his back turned to them, but he noticed Cassandra in the mirror and his expression hardened visibly. Ferdinand was sitting comfortably on a settee, a small entourage of attendants standing behind him, including his chamberlain, the crown prince and Enchanter Joanna. Three fully armoured templars stood awkwardly next to the settee. Cassandra recognised their leader, the woman from yesterday. Trevelyan wasn't there.

"Lady Cassandra," said the king. Cassandra bowed stiffly and straightened up, hands behind her back. "We are honoured that you finally decided to join us. These knights of the esteemed Templar Order seem to think that you were somehow involved in an attempt to set free a dangerous apostate and won't believe me when I tell them that Cassandra Pentaghast would never do such a thing."

"You are correct, Your Grace. My brother, Anthony," she turned to the templars, "can confirm that he found me sleeping in one of the rooms in the guest wing. I haven't left the palace at all tonight and I was not a part of..."

"That's curious," interrupted the templar leader harshly, "because I recall you, my lady, threatening one of my knights with your sword. At The Sea Snail tavern, by the Fereldan Wharf."

"I deeply regret that something like this has happened, but it was an intervention I took on behalf of the apostate Anders, who was being mistreated by said knight in a way that didn't befit him."

"Would you say, my lady, that the fault lies with my subordinate?"

"Definitely," said Cassandra. "No one should be treated the way that mage was treated, especially if they are also helpless and chained. I would like to file an official complaint against templar Marcus―"

"Cassandra!" bellowed the Duke. "Leave templar Marcus alone and explain to me and to everyone gathered here why Mistress Trevelyan acted the way she did!"

Cassandra opened her mouth, but despite trying very hard, she was not able to come up with a sensible retort, as she herself didn't have an explanation for the things that happened that night. "That apostate," she said finally, aware of everyone's eyes focused on her, "was someone the Mistress knew from her past... He offered her unconditional help and I'm sure―"

"Unconditional help?" interrupted Enchanter Joanna, her well-groomed eyebrows raised in astonishment. "An apostate?"

"Will you confirm that Mistress Trevelyan collaborated with a known criminal and apostate, Anders from Anderfels?" continued the templar.

"What? No! I mean... I wouldn’t call that a collaboration, to be honest. It is my opinion that what Mistress Trevelyan had in mind was a noble act..."

From the faces of the people in the room Cassandra could see that she made a mistake, and a fatal one at that. Ferdinand shifted in his settee, leaning against the armrest. "Matthias, don't you think this situation is uncannily similar to the one from ten years ago?"

"Indeed I do, and I wonder why."

"It is not the same situation!" protested Cassandra.

"I do hope so, because at the time we were dealing with high treason," said the king. "But the characters remain the same: ourselves, a smitten Cassandra, a rowdy mage and I even think I remember you lot..." He waved his hand at the templars.

"I don't recall anything of the sort, Your Grace," snapped the templar. "If the princess' participation in the events of that night wasn't confirmed, I would like to ask your permission to leave the palace. We have two rowdy mages to take care of now."

"Where are you taking her?!" demanded Cassandra.

The templar gave her a mysterious smile in lieu of response, bowed and left. Cassandra stepped forward, but Anthony discreetly caught her arm.

"It's not the sort of information they will give you now, Cassandra," said her father. "Or perhaps ever. It is in our best interest to separate you two. It's clear she’s had a bad influence on you."

"It is not her bad influence, Dad," she said, turning to him and to Ferdinand, fists clenched. "It is what you taught me my whole life. To stand up for the weak and to react in case of blatant injustice. That everyone deserves the right to be protected..."

Ferdinand sighed, indicating he was growing weary with the situation, and her father took that as a cue to leave the anteroom. Cassandra desperately wanted to give them a piece of her mind, but managed to stop herself when she recalled what had happened to her uncle for doing so. Anthony pulled her along gently, but she broke out of his hold and ran up to the cloister. There was no one but the bread makers and merchants in the courtyard. The templars were nowhere to be seen.

"Cass, let's go, don't make a scene here," whispered Anthony. He didn't have to, though, because she decided she wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She cast one final look towards the courtyard and turned around, teeth clenched.

They led her somewhere else, probably to the guest rooms. It was like seeing that place for the first time in her life. She stood there in the middle of the room like an accused person during a trial while her father took a seat in an armchair. He sighed deeply.

"I am very disappointed in you, Cassandra," he said, is if something bad had happened to _him_. "Ferdinand is right, history is repeating itself. And all this after you swore you would be careful, vigilant even..."

"It's not the same."

"No, it is not. Because you are older now, Cassandra, and also smarter, or so I hoped. Cassandra, tell me, what is it with you that you... have this strange predilection for mages, of all people? Is it our fault somehow? Is it mine? It cannot be an accident."

Cassandra closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I know you thought you were keeping everything a secret, but you weren’t. I decided not to intervene, I thought it was innocent. I thought you lacked female company... But I didn't know to what extent."

"Father―" tried Anthony, but the Duke just raised his hand.

"I also know that you two always conspire together. But I won't be laughed at, least of all by you two, and I won't accept ideas like a court mage anymore. I have told you time and again that from my experience the only thing mages are good for are catastro―"

Cassandra tilted her head to the side. "If you want to blame someone for what happened to your brother, blame Ferdinand," she said, her voice cold. "He was the one who sentenced him to death. And no, blood magic wasn't to blame, Vestalus just thought he shouldn’t become king. And it looks like he was right, considering that Ferdinand began his reign with murdering everyone who dared to oppose him!"

Anthony inhaled deeply and took a step back. Her father looked flabbergasted.

"I know it is easy to explain everything this way," continued Cassandra, approaching the armchair slowly. "Blood magic caused the coup, blood magic made him join the fraternity you didn't think was right, blood magic is to blame for someone with different opinions than yours. It was the same with Regalyan – do you really think he had to perform some dark rituals to cast doubt on my support towards Ferdinand's candidacy? He didn't, because back then I already had a mind of my own and I knew he was the wrong choice! But you would rather believe they were beguiled with magic than that you supported to the wrong person!" she cried, her hand outstretched and pointing accusingly at her father.

"And everyone, I, Tony, Mum, Wilhelm, all these years we've been avoiding the subject and we did it for you. Because we knew that you would rather believe in some sort of dark conspiracy than the fact that your own cousin didn't bat an eye sentencing your brother to death."

She didn't feel much better once she was done, the only difference being that the desperation she felt earlier gave way to righteous indignation. Her father didn't move at all, a deep line on his forehead, his eyes fixed on something unspecific. It was much worse than his usual outbursts of anger. After a moment, he stood up and reached for his cloak. Cassandra stamped her feet to draw his attention back to her.

"Trevelyan is not who you think she is."

"She is not who you think she is either," he said, not looking her in the eyes. "Even if it was like you said it was, it is all over with Mistress Trevelyan. This morning she was sent away from Cumberland on a ship heading who knows where. I do admit it's a loss," he added after a moment's thought. "We will certainly feel her absence during our hunts. If you wish to go back home, Cassandra, you should. I'll do my best to cover up this scandal."

Having said that, he left the room, closing the door quietly. Cassandra turned to the window. She didn't want anyone to see her face.

"Do you want me to come with you?" asked Anthony matter-of-factly.

"No, there's no need. It's best you stayed here."

"I agree."

She heard him shifting from one foot to the other. Her brother hated confrontations and she knew that this situation was difficult for him.

"You were right, Cass. Everything you said was true. Dad is just not used to someone else being right. He will need some time."

"I suppose so."

She didn't say anything else, so he turned and left the room. Immediately Cassandra felt as if all power left her. She braced herself on the windowsill – the windows were facing the gardens, where normal life continued as if nothing out-of-ordinary had happened. Someone was cutting the hedgerow, birds were jumping around in the rhododendron bushes and the queen's ladies-in-waiting were walking leisurely along the flowerbeds.

She had to give herself some tasks. First thing she had to do was straighten up, leave the room, go to her quarters and pack her things. However, inexplicably tempted, she peeked inside Trevelyan's room first. Her travelling bags were gone, someone must have taken them. The room was empty save for a pair of earrings and some cosmetics on the dressing table, as well as her custom-made armour, completely useless now, hanging on a rack. Cassandra took the earrings, but it made her so angry that upon leaving the room she hit the rack with force. The armour fell to the floor and she cut her hand, which gave her another task – cleaning it with water and bandaging it with something clean. She took a quick bath, getting rid of the remnants of the last night; then she braided her hair and put on full armour. She left the palace without saying goodbye to anyone, curious looks following her to the gates.

She rode through Cumberland, asking about the templars anywhere she could – in churches, taverns and inns, but no one seemed to know what happened to them and the two mages they travelled with. Come midday she realised she hadn't eaten yet, so she stopped to buy some cheese and a piece of fruit pie and headed for the Northern Gate, which wasn't a good idea, as it was just yesterday that they were there together with Trevelyan. Luckily she got distracted by some merchants worrying over the road to Stavingby. She offered to lead them and was glad for their company, even though the experience was somehow perplexing – on the one hand she was so affected by what had happened, but on the other, she easily engaged in aimless small talk about the weather.

When they reached the necropolis, she bid them goodbye, left her horse by the picket and entered the shadows of the cemetery overcame by a strange sense of relief. Her family's tombs took up the greater part of it and, as usual, she had to walk around for a while before she found uncle Vestalus' grand mausoleum. After a moment's hesitation she unbuckled her sword belt and sat down on the stone steps, watching cypress trees rocking gently with the wind. She took off her glove and then the bandage to look at the wound. She clenched and unclenched her fist, the red edges of the torn skin coming apart to reveal the soft flesh underneath.

It was Sigismund who greeted her when she arrived home.

"Back so soon, my lady?" he asked, when she threw him the reins. "Did something happen?"

"Nothing dangerous." Cassandra got off her horse and patted in on the neck. "Tell the stable boy to take care of him, we've been riding since early morning."

She told her mother what happened and they ate dinner in strange, grave silence. Come evening she decided to go and sit on the jetty for a while. It was there that Sigismund found her.

"Tell me to go away and I will." Cassandra didn't even hear him approaching, as he didn't stomp heavily like most guardsmen did. "I don't mean to intrude."

"Sit," she said, patting the spot next to her on the jetty. "What gave me away?"

"Nothing in particular." He sat down and took off his shoes. He looked younger, exactly like the boy Cassandra took on as her squire. "Forgive my boldness, it's just that I would like to offer you my company, my lady."

"I would be honoured. I would ask you to refrain from asking questions though. I've answered enough of them for today."

"There is just one I would like to ask." He looked at her over his shoulder, his red curls framing his face. "Whom or what should I silently hate."

"To be completely honest, I don't even know myself." His offer surprised her, even though it shouldn't have. All these years, Sigismund had always been at her side. "If you wish to share it with me, you would have to blame the general injustice of the world."

"That can be arranged, lady Cassandra."

"Thank you."

As they fixed their gazes on the slowly darkening surface of the water, Cassandra was slowly beginning to understand that from now on, she would have to go about her life in a way different than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if you were hoping for fluff! D:


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are, the final chapter :) big thanks to everyone who has commented and/or given kudos, it really makes my day when i see these numbers rise. i'm already working on the third part, but sadly i'm also in the middle of moving house and packing takes a loooot of my free time.

"Much of this is a direct result of information being a very closely guarded secret in the Circles," said Cassandra, banging her cup against the table. "Meaning, no one tells these mages anything. The only thing they know for sure is that the templars keep secrets from them. I discovered that when I was looking for a... friend, who had been transferred. I didn't know where to."

Leliana nodded. The feast was in full swing, with marquis Dubois getting more and more drunk by each minute, much to his wife’s despair.

"In Cumberland they didn't even open the gates for me," continued Cassandra. "I sat there in the courtyard until late evening. I was even about to confront the templars, if it weren't for one of the Senior Enchanters who came out only to say that they couldn't help me. To quote her, because I remember her exact words: 'Sometimes there is only so much you can do'. A sort of... trained powerlessness, if you will."

"I agree," said Leliana, putting some salad on her plate, "with everything, the premeditation of the whole process included. Obliviousness results in mages having their hands tied, while powerlessness deprives them of the will to act. As for your friend... I've heard about that."

"Have you?" Cassandra frowned. "How come?"

Leliana raised her eyebrows, her expression quite telling.

"Ah, that's right. You had me checked."

"Naturally." Leliana crossed her legs, balancing the plate on her bosom. "As soon as you were named the Right Hand. I needed to know who I would be working with."

"And?" Cassandra leant forward over the table. "Do you know everything about me?"

"Oh, definitely not, of that I am be sure. I know names, dates, places, but that's it. What I don't know is the how and the why – for example, how and why did you join the Chantry? Rich, tenth in line to the Nevarran throne, and first to the Duchy of Cumberland..."

"It's a long story." Cassandra poured some wine into her cup. There was not much left in the decanter, so she looked around the hall in search of the cup-bearer. "And not a very uplifting one."

"Why is that?" Leliana seemed honestly surprised. "You've come so far after all."

"That I did." Cassandra raised her cup. "I would like to propose a toast – to our joint, yet challenging success."

And they had many reasons for celebration, too. They had saved a dangerously and persistently haunted Circle from the Rite of Annulment, which resulted in the local marquis throwing a big feast that everyone, apart from the two of them, seemed to enjoy thoroughly. As they clinked their glasses together, Cassandra thought about home. Some details were slowly fading away from her memory.

"So?" prodded Leliana, looking at Cassandra over her brink of her cup. "What will it be with that story?"

"It's no wonder people tell you everything. You simply harass them for so long they eventually lose the will to refuse you."

"It does sound likely. But, to be honest, I'm simply curious about you, Cassandra. Remember, the facts I already know."

"And keep in mind that I know you're manipulating me." Cassandra jokingly pointed an accusatory finger at her. "Very well, then. I propose a deal – if I tell you my story, you will have to tell me about defeating the Blight and the battle of Denerim."

Leliana tilted her head to the side. "Do I have to, really? I've told that story so many times..."

"You used to be a bard, didn't you?" asked Cassandra, making use of the only piece of secret knowledge she had about Sister Nightingale. "As far as I'm concerned, you can even sing me a song about it."

"Oh, Seeker! Dangerous even without her sword. I think I like this side of you."

Cassandra glared at her. Even though they've been working together for some time now, they have never really been in that kind of an informal situation before. There were of course the many banquets, during which the Divine and the Revered Mothers, as well as Orlesian nobles with their extremely dull etiquette, were always present, that much was true. It was different here – not only did they accomplish a very difficult task all on their own, but they were also left entirely to themselves, as the templars were still angry with them, and the rest of the feasters fearfully kept their distance.

"You may have noticed already that it can sometimes be difficult for me to get a hold of my anger," started Cassandra, her voice tentative.

"Indeed, that chair flying across the length of the Great Hall made quite a statement."

"Yes." Cassandra cleared her throat. "Then you can probably imagine that it was... even worse, after that incident. To such extent that most people wouldn't even work with me, that everyone started avoiding me. I did my best to adopt a less confrontational, more accepting attitude, to mirror my mother and brother, but it wasn't always easy for me."

"Sometimes there are good sides to anger, too. It can bring about change, for example."

"It wasn't that kind of anger. It was personal. Destructive. You'd be surprised to learn what helped me deal with it – esoteric books and willpower exercises. Turns out they aren't only useful for mages."

"Doesn't the Chantry use them as well?"

"They do, but I didn't know that at the time. When I regained the ability to think rationally, I decided... to act. I've always felt that the life I was supposed to lead would be different from that of my family and I realised that it was the right moment to change something about that."

"I understand that, but why choose the Templar order? A person of your position surely had more options."

"What are you getting at, Sister?"

"I think you're an idealist, Cassandra, and I'm waiting for you to admit that."

Cassandra snorted. The cup-bearer, who chose that exact moment to approach them with wine, jumped at that. "Messere..."

"Pour away." Cassandra waved a hand at him. "Fine, I'll admit it. I am an idealist. I wanted to change the system from the inside. I wanted to become a good templar, the one that everyone would put forward as an example. I wanted to prove that not everything had to be based on oppression."

"But the templars didn't let you join."

"They didn't. Supposedly because of my age – I was twenty five at the time – but the real reason, as you probably know, was different. On the same day I met with Lord Seeker Lambert. He had a different idea."

"They let you join."

"They did, under the condition that I would pass the trials. The first one was in Cumberland. I can't really speak about it, the Order is very strict about that. I don't doubt, however, that you would find a way to obtain that information. Anyway, I passed. All of them."

"What did your family have to say about that, if you don't mind me asking?"

"They weren't happy, to say the least." She fell silent, playing with the cup she was holding. She remembered how her mother came to her the night before she was supposed to leave and woke her up with a gentle, apologetic caress. Cassandra, unused to such displays of affection and at first angry at her mother for disregarding her privacy, finally understood that it was probably her last chance for such gestures. She fell asleep with her head on her mother's knees. "But it was a good way to cover up the scandal once and for all and to reclaim lost honour, at least in my father's eyes."

Leliana raised her well-groomed eyebrows.

"I didn't think I had done anything wrong," said Cassandra and suddenly burst out laughing. "Who would have thought that you'd be the one I would discuss it with. I don't think I ever said a word about that to anyone! Unbelievable."

"That was quite depressing, actually," said Leliana, emptying her cup. "You were right when you said it was not going to be very uplifting. But I do know about something that _will_ lift our spirits."

"More wine? The marquis will never invite us again if we drink more than we already have."

"Something better than wine." Leliana stood up. "They have hot spring baths here. It is a closely guarded secret of course, but it just so happened..."

"Ah, yes. I figured as much." Upon standing up, Cassandra realised that keeping her balance was not as easy as it should be. She tried to hide it leaning against the chair to reach for her sword belt. "I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but that sounds like an excellent idea, Sister Nightingale."

"Shhh! It's my code name, yes?"

"No one's heard."

They left the banquet hall, followed by relieved looks of the Ansburg elite. Leliana giggled in a way that didn't befit a person of her position, while Cassandra kept silent, busy reminiscing on the version of herself from years ago, on Cumberland, even on her father. She hadn't seen them ever since she was named the Right Hand of the Divine and as a result stopped having time for anything that didn't involve service to the Chantry.

"This way!" Leliana pointed at a staircase partially covered with a tapestry. "Be careful, please, the ceiling is quite low here."

Cassandra, who was just about to hit it with her forehead, ducked quickly. The stairs, spiral and narrow, were somewhat of a challenge in her inebriated state, but it had been such a long time since the last time she enjoyed a party, she couldn't even blame herself.

At the end of the stairs there was a door leading to a spacious chamber supported by two rows of columns. In the middle of it was a steaming pool full of greenish water.

Leliana took off her tabard emblazoned with the Sun, put it down on the chair standing by the edge of the pool, and then proceeded to unclasp the leather armour she wore underneath. Cassandra didn't want to stay behind: she quickly unbuckled her sword belt and leant forward to take off the chainmail. When she finally slipped out of it, Leliana was already entering the hot water. She had the lean body of an archer, with skin as white as porcelain, marred by old scars here and there. When she finally sat down, the water tactfully covered her small breasts.

Cassandra took off the rest of her clothes and walked over to the edge of the pool, doing all she could not to lose her balance on the slippery floor. Slowly, she lowered herself down into the water, more and more relieved with every minute. She was about to doze off when suddenly Leliana burst out laughing.

"Forgive me, Cassandra. It's just, I thought about all these jokes about the Right and Left Hand taking a bath together."

"It is a true threat. We can never speak a word of this to anyone." Cassandra pulled herself up a bit and leant against the edge, trying to drive the drowsiness away. "I would like to come back to our previous conversation, because I seem to recall you promising me something."

"Indeed, I did promise. Before we start I would like to know the origin of your interest."

"I know a mage who fought in the Battle of Denerim." Cassandra wiped the sweat off her forehead. "He was from Kinloch Hold, his name is Regalyan D'Marcall. Have you met him?"

"I'm afraid I haven't." Leliana shook her head. Her hair curled up a little from the humidity in the air. "But believe me when I say that we'd met so many people back then that it is entirely possible that I just don't remember him. Is he important to you?"

"He's a friend. We've been exchanging letters for a long time now and I was curious if you could add something to his story."

Leliana smiled softly, moving her white legs back and forth underneath the surface of the water. Fortunately she didn't sing, choosing to talk instead – but she did it with such grace and ease Cassandra could only be jealous. When she reached the battle of Denerim, one of the marquis' servants burst into the chamber and immediately took a step back upon seeing two naked nymphs, one making a high-pitched noise and making a move as if to cover herself up, the second just about to jump out of the water to grab her sword. Caught red-handed, they had to dress up hurriedly and make their way to the guest rooms, their gait as dignified as it only could be.

The next day everything was back to normal – they were back in the saddle, dressed in official Chantry clothes, Leliana hiding her face beneath a cowl, while Cassandra, her expression stern, was preparing a report for the Lord Seeker in her head. She found it difficult to focus, as their visit to the Circle and Leliana's inquiries brought back memories she hadn't had time to dwell on lately. If there was something she really hated, it was overanalysing and second guessing her own actions, the two things these particular memories usually caused.

In the scorching heat of the midday sun their journey through the Free Marches seemed to last way longer than it should. They were passing Wildervale, when one of the scouts forced his way through the procession to get to them.

"Seeker! Over there, a dragon!"

"A dragon?" Cassandra's brain sprung to action. "Here?"

"Here, it's blocking the road and won't budge! We'll have to turn back..."

"Describe that dragon to me, if you can." Cassandra motioned at the scout. Leliana's face emerged from beneath her cowl, her curiosity piqued.

"Well... it's big, bluish... Spits ice!"

"How big? The size of a barn or a peasant's hut?"

"A hut, I think," said the scout after a moment's thought. "You mean it could be even bigger?"

"It's a mistral. Male," explained Cassandra, loosening her sword in its holder. "We could easily take him, the two of us with, let's say, four volunteers."

"Is that really a good idea?" asked mother Brigitte, her face as white as marble.

"Our Seeker here used to hunt dragons the way some hunt boars," reminded Leliana.

"Thank you, Sister. We all know that you also fought some."

"It is decided then." Leliana turned to the guardsmen, who were already whispering among themselves. "The one to bring a dragon's head to Val Royeaux will surely be met with honours. What will it be?"

Four men volunteered, out of which one was armoured with crossbow. Together they left the procession behind, making their way through many carts and some nobleman's entourage. The dragon was indeed lying in the middle of the road, its nostrils blowing icy puffs that turned to snow before settling down on the ground.

Cassandra gave each member of their small team a specific task and got off her horse, taking the shield off her back. When everyone was in position, she began the attack, even though it was not her father that led it with her this time, but one of the knights of the Chantry.

When the dust finally settled, she found herself partially lying under the mistral, who was now dying, slowly but unavoidably. After a moment a gloved hand appeared in her field of vision and wasted no time in getting her back on her feet by pulling her by the collar.

"Is everything alright?" asked Leliana. As usual, she looked as if she had just finished her morning beauty routine.

"Everything is fine," assured Cassandra. She coughed and brushed the scales and dirt off of herself. "Perfect, even. Has anyone got hurt?"

"Everyone is fine except for one pair of torn pants." Leliana pointed at a squire, who was struggling to cover a quite strategically placed tear. "And the Chantry's image has just been greatly improved in the eyes of the citizens of Wildervale."

The dragon was dragged away from the middle of the road and decapitated. What remained of it was left with the nobleman and soon the procession was moving again, heading for Val Royeaux, everyone's morale and spirits high.

The capital was clearly being prepared for the First Day of Summer, but the solemn atmosphere in the Grand Cathedral was evident even in the stables. Cassandra stopped the first templar they stumbled upon. "What happened?" she asked.

"The Kirkwall rebellion," he answered, his eyes glistening maniacally. "Haven't you heard? Grand Cleric Elthina is dead and Maker only knows how many more innocent people were killed. Apostates are killing templars in the streets!"

"Come again?" demanded Cassandra, while Leliana covered her mouth with her hand, shocked.

"We have only just heard," mumbled the templar.

Cassandra refrained from saying everything she wanted to say until they reached the Square of Justinia. "Kirkwall?" she hissed at Leliana. "Weren't you just there?"

"I was," said Leliana, still clearly shocked. "Poor Grand Cleric... I tried to convince her to get away from there, it was already dangerous... The resolutionists..."

"Weren't there more grounds to send us there instead of to Ansburg?"

"The agents stationed there didn't send any dispatches. It's a strange city, Cassandra, you will see for yourself once we get there. Maybe something happened to them too..."

"You mean to say there was nothing we could do?"

"Cassandra." Leliana stopped to look her right in the eyes. "You read my report. We've even talked about it in Ansburg. Everyone knew perfectly well what was going on in Kirkwall. The lack of so called political will was what allowed the rebellion to spread."

"Political will!" yelled Cassandra, turning heads.

"Shh!"

The next day they were aboard a ship heading for Kirkwall, two units of knights with them. They didn't manage to enter the harbour because the chains were raised, so they dropped anchor by one of the smaller villages nearby and reached Kirkwall on boats. It was visible from afar – with pillars of smoke and a brownish glow rising high in the air, the burning smell and the outbursts of magic getting more and more prominent as they neared the city. It made Cassandra's skin crawl.

They reached Hightown on foot. Where once stood the cathedral was now a giant hole in the ground. People bustled about in what little remained of it, looking for the dead, as the chances to find anyone alive after such a long time were rather slim. Leliana ordered their knights to help in the search, while Cassandra approached the ruins on horseback.

"Who's in charge? Is there a commander?"

One person motioned to a man wearing cracked templar armour, black from fire and smoke. Cassandra got off her horse and made her way to him through the rubble. "Are you in charge here?"

The man turned around to face her and she saw that the lower half of his face was covered in crusted blood. She almost took a step back.

"I'm captain Cullen," he said. He could be a few years her junior, but his eyes were those of an old man. "You're finally here."

"Allow me," she said, her arm outstretched in his direction. "We'll take care of your wound and then we'll talk about what's happened here."

He caught Cassandra's elbow as she helped him up. Cassandra believed that a handshake spoke volumes about a person. In case of Cullen it turned out to be true.


End file.
